


Nothing Goes Wrong

by OmoYasha



Series: Omovember 2020 [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Omorashi, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmoYasha/pseuds/OmoYasha
Summary: "Then it's settled, Père Fauchelevent.  All will go well.""As long as nothing goes wrong," thought Fauchelevent.  "Imagine how terrible that could be!"-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------In the end, nothing goes wrong.  But there are a few obvious oversights in the coffin scheme.(Omovember Day 12: Trapped and Desperate)
Series: Omovember 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998742
Kudos: 9





	Nothing Goes Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piss fic! Not a very explicit one, but. Heads up!

Despite the deathly calm that filled him – the calm of a man at the center of a plan already in motion; the steady surety that comes of simply refusing to acknowledge such risks as you are powerless to change – Valjean found that a part of him was restless as he lay, silent and unmoving, in his coffin.

Specifically, it was the part of him which had not had an opportunity to relieve itself since the small hours of the morning.

He had spent the night in a storage closet, after all; and their plan relied on stealthiness and precise timing – it was designed entirely around what opportunities the Lord had seen fit to grant them… not around ample breaks for the lavatory.

Though he had drunk little, and eaten even less, his guts pinched and stabbed at him with the jostling of the hearse – the dizzying swaying as the coffin was lowered into the grave.

He was calm nonetheless, much as he wished for the freedom to move, and alleviate the pressuse. Still, he was happy to hear the prayers in Latin – though the gentle raindrop-like patter of the holy water brought a grimace to his face.

After all, the noises meant that it was nearly over; that he would soon be released from his living tomb.

It would take… an hour, perhaps, for Fauchelevent to sufficiently distract his gravedigger friend, and come back to pull out the nails.

Just an hour, and he would be free. He could wait for an hour – he did not entertain any thoughts to the contrary, just as he did not entertain any thought that their plan might fail.

When one is planning an escape, there is no use thinking on unthinkable outcomes; once you have started, there is only one option. To dwell on such things does nothing but eat away a man’s nerves.

He was calm. Patient.

Then, with a thunderous noise, a spadeful of earth fell onto the coffin.

Then a second.

A third spadeful.

A fourth.

There are some things that are too much for even the strongest of men to bear; Jean Valjean lost consciousness.

The first things which swam into his awareness were the chill evening air upon his face, and the sound of Fauchelevent’s sobbing. He opened his eyes, and saw the vast, cloudy night sky.

A moment later, the old man’s face moved into his field of vision instead. Valjean stared, thoughts still muddled from his stint of unconsciousness and restricted air. It was only when Fauchelevent leapt back in fear that it occurred to him that an explanation might be called for.

“I fell asleep.” he managed to offer, and sat up in the coffin.

“Good sweet Virgin! Did you frighten me!”

The gardener rambled on, and Valjean shook his head slightly, trying to regain his senses.

“I’m cold.” he said at length, and Fauchelevent hurried back to him.

“Let’s hurry on out of here,” his friend said. “But first-“ He withdrew a flask and, after helping himself to a swig, pressed it to Valjean’s lips.

The brandy warmed him, helped clear his thoughts. But as he made to climb out of the pit, it brought something else as back to his attention as well.

“Ah,” Valjean thought with a wince. Yes, it would be best to hurry – for more reasons than one.

In deference to both the risk of discovery, and to his poor, aching bladder, he hurried to help Fauchelevent nail shut the coffin, and put his back into the work of burying it. The quicker they finished, the quicker they could exit the cemetery, and he could take care of his rather pressing problem.

Fauchelevent – who was an observant fellow – caught Valjean’s eye as he stopped to collect himself partway through, taking a deep breath and pressing his thighs together.

“Are you well, Père Madeleine?” he questioned, knowing Valjean’s usual stamina, and concerned that the time sealed in the coffin had treated him worse than it first appeared.

Valjean shook his head.

“I am fine.” he said, a bit tightly. “It is as you say – we should clear out of here quickly.”

He picked up his spade and set back to work. When Fauchelevent still glanced at him in doubtful concern, he added apologetically, by way of explanation,

“We must leave together with the pass, mustn’t we? I’d rather hurry. I need to – that is, I was in there a long while, and I wouldn’t want to desecrate a graveyard with what I need to do next.”

Understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes, and he nodded, turning back to filling the hollow with steady dedication.

It was not only the lingering stiffness of extended confinement that made Valjean clumsy as he followed Fauchelevent to the gate – even as his body urged him to leave more quickly than the gardener’s slow limp, it was just as well that the other man was no quick walker… sudden movements made it difficult to keep himself composed, as desperate as he was.

He found himself shifting impatiently from foot to foot as they stopped to deposit the gravedigger’s pass. Sudden movements might be inadvisable, but standing entirely still was proving equally unbearable.

The second the gate creaked open, Valjean murmured a quick “Excuse me”, and sprinted for the nearest alley.

Unbuttoning his trousers with stiff fingers, he wasted no time adding his own contribution to the gutter, sighing heavily at the blissful relief it offered. It took what seemed like forever to empty his bladder; the noise as loud as a rushing river in the quiet of the alley.

When he was done, he readjusted his clothing and – most pressing need taken care of – returned to old Fauchelevent.

With an apology for the wait, he took the pick from the other man, and they resumed their walk through the shadowed streets.

First, Fauchelevent’s errand. Then, to retrieve his dear Cosette.

And then? If all went well – the rest of their lives, perhaps.

But first, to return the pick and spade.

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't a ton of STORY to this story, but I couldn't resist doing something with this for the "trapped and desperate" prompt for omovember when I remembered the canon scenario! The poor man has been stuck in a closet and then a coffin for like 18 hrs... he MUST be pretty eager for a break, by the end.  
> Since this is an omovember fic, editing has been EXTREMELY minimal... please let me know if there are any glaring errors, though.
> 
> Comments and reviews are always welcome!  
> Feel free to look me up on tumblr at omoyasha.tumblr.com


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